The Twelve Days Of Christmas
by CassandraHolly
Summary: ... and all that comes with it, including swearing, laughter, blackmail, general confusion and our four favourite guys.
1. Chapter 1

Hello again. I've been very caught up recently, but this is a mini- series to keep you going for Christmas- 12 scenarious with the McFly guys in their McFly house around their Christmas/es. I'll be starting/ carrying on with requests soon, hopefully this weekend, I promise.

Hope you like it. XoX

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><p>"What do you mean, a <em>fake <em>tree? It has to be real!" The way Tom was staring at Dougie insinuated that the latter had done the former a great injustice- worse than killing Marvin, worse than breaking his guitar, worse than saying Danny's intelligence had anything on Tom's own.

And it _was _worse.

"But fake trees are _better_!"

"Dougie!" Tom gasped, clutching a hand to his heart and using the other to steady himself on the kitchen counter. "How _dare _you promote fake trees- why, they're just another excuse to ruin this planet-"

"Yeah, buying plastic is much worse than ripping down a real live tree," Danny called from the bottom of the stairs, where he was sorting through christmas decorations. Tom stared at him through the doorway.

"It _is_."

"Not like trees produce oxygen via the cycle of photosynthesis- the cycle, might I add, that keeps us humans alive in this world of deadly greenhouse gases."

Tom blinked, Dougie's mouth fell open, and Harry, who was walking down the stairs, tripped and came to a halt leaning on the wall with eyes wide.

"Yeah," Danny said, a smug expression on his face. "Sometimes I payed attention in Science."

"Good grief." Harry shook his head, then swung himself over Danny and glanced at the two blondes in the kitchen.

"What're you two bickering about now?"

"He wants a real tree!"

"He wants a fake tree!"

The statements were accompanied by the two pointing at each other. Harry rolled his eyes. "Does it _matter_?"

"Yes!"

"Harry," Tom said loudly. "Think about it- the smell of pine, the more authentic look, the traditional Christmas-"

"Harry!" Dougie elbowed Tom out of the way then put on his best puppy dog expression. "Harry, when I was at home- with my _mum_, who I really miss by the way- we _always _had a fake one, and it was always bigger than me-"

Tom snorted. "Not hard-"

"- And mum would help us decorate it... and dad always put the star on top..."

Harry moved forward to hug the pathetic- faced teen, but Tom stepped forward.

"Oh, no. No, no, _no_, you've already used the my- dad's- gone- and- I'm- homesick card this month!"

"Wha- _when_?"

"When you got us to take you to Chucky Cheese for your birthday!"

"...Oh." Dougie shrugged. "Oh, okay then." He paused, recollecting his argument, then took a deep breath and turned to Harry to present his point.

"Real trees," He announced, "Are shit."

"Hear, hear," Danny called. Tom leaned around Harry to give him a full- power glare; Danny shrank back.

"They _are _bigger." He mumbled.

"It's not about size, it's about the spirit!"

"The tree's dead, there's no spirit anyway! Tree murderer!"

Tom whirled to face Dougie. "How _dare _you, I am no soulless murderer-"

"Guys." They both looked at Harry, who had an expression of long- suffering on his face. "Our house is huge, and we could fit every item mentioned in the song '12 Days Of Christmas' in the front porch alone. We'll get two, it's no big deal. Jeesh."

He turned and walked out, leaving behind a silent Tom and Dougie, until Tom spoke.

"We're so having an angel on the top."

He collapsed as Dougie kicked him in the shin.

"When my dad still loved me we had a star."


	2. Chapter 2

"But Toooom, that's not _faaaaiir._"

Danny Jones was 20 years old. Approximately seventeen of these years had been well spent perfecting his whine and it was, if he did say so himself, play- worthy. Maybe he could even go so far as to say it was worth a thirty minute set on prime time television- but he didn't say that, because, as he had explained to Harry, arrogance wasn't attractive in Northeners.

Northeners, Harry had agreed, didn't have much to be arrogant about anyway.

Thus Danny kept the whine within the confines of his personal life, to use only in situations such as these.

"_Pleeease, _Tom, _please _can we go to Santa's Grotto."

Tom didn't think quite as highly of Danny's whine as Danny did. In fact, he was tiptoeing down the line between feigned deafness and lobbing Danny out of the car window before flooring it to a hundred miles away.

Instead, he tapped the steering wheel and gritted his teeth.

"Danny, Santa's Grotto was designed solely for parents who need to lug off their kids to someone else while they get last minute Christmas presents. _Not _for twenty year old band members." He shuddered as he imagined the scene- Danny Jones bouncing in to a room full of young girls and boys, at least half of which were bound to be McFly fans and at least 40% of which were not above jumping on people.

Rather like Danny himself.

"Thomas, don't be so naïve. Saying Santa's Grotto is for children is saying imagination is below us adults."

Tom slowly turned to look at Danny, eyebrow raised. "'Us' adults, Danny?"

"Yes, _us _adults. In case you hadn't noticed, I have, over these past years, gained a great deal of-" Danny puffed out his chest as far as the seatbelt would allow. "-Maturiosity."

"The word is, ironically enough, maturity, and to lie is to sin. We are _not _going to Santa's grotto, we are buying Harry's birthday present and Dougie's christmas present, and if you so much as whisper the word 'Grotto' for the rest of the day I will gladly and unregrettably smash your nose in to the back of your skull."

A welcome silence filled the Beatle for a short amount of time. Parking the car, Tom got out, stretched, and turned.

"Danny, get out of the car."

No reply. He had expected as much- or, as the occasion dictated, lack thereof.

"Danny, get out of the car."

Tom found himself vaguely wondering if Danny counted as a dog, and if so, would he be fined for leaving him in the car for an extended period of time without water?"

"Danny, don't be childish. Where's all of your... maturiosity gone?"

"It's hard for someone such as I to exert maturiosity in such depressing times."

"You're giving Santa's Grotto a miss, not attending your mother's funeral. I would hardly call it depressing."

A deep sigh was emitted from the car. "You had a childhood far from mine."

Tom was, not for the first time when it came to Danny, stumped. "What?"

"I'm sure your parents took you to Santa's Grotto many a Christmas eve. I'm sure you were given the most satisfying of presents. I'm sure you were awarded for being good all year round with a lollipop and a kiss on the cheek from The Man Himself. Not I. Oh, but many a year I was on my best behaviour only to be greeted with the most gutting of responses when my mother announced that this year, there would be no Santa's Grotto, for time was short and imaptience was a-plenty-"

"Fine. We'll go to Santa's Grotto."

"...Really?"

Tom took a calming breath. "Yes. But only if you don't talk to me for two hours for the sake of both my sanity and your sad little life."

There was a rummaging sound, and Danny fell out of the car. He jumped up, mimed blowing a kiss at Tom and began leaping off out of the car park, when he turned and looked seriously at the blonde.

"You know," He said, "I couldn't go to Santa's Grotto without you, Tom."

"Yes, I do know." Tom joined Danny and gave him a strained but affectionate smile. "Now shut up and get moving."


End file.
